I said. I was drunk. I sat in T-shirt and shorts and basked in the illusion of time to myself. I had a great figure in clothes where my small scars were hinted at. People watched as they observe themselves sometimes, say, peeling an orange, o isn't this sensual they think in an adult circumspect way. Lips are popular. We groan into their part, that russet brown, o o that russet that, ah. Once in South America someone screamed eat me in a respectable hotel lobby. Oh those Spanish boys knew what she meant. In the elevator. I have to prolong this because women like it that way. Only three men have ever spoken to me about failure. Inside my hazel eyes, blue and green flares shoot off, impossible to detect unless you love me. And didn't everyone then: drinking warm Bordeaux, I held their hands. So many insisted on being included so who was I to renounce them. We make ourselves sick. I was drunk when I arrived and am cold now. So little of me is destructive. We make ourselves live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEORGE CRABBE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON STARTING FROM PAUMANOK by WALT WHITMAN INFLUENCE by BELLE BEARDEN BARRY SPLENDID ISOLATION; A MORAL FROM LEXINTON, 1775 by KATHARINE LEE BATES LA BEAUTE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THREE SONGS OF LOVE (CHINESE FASHION): 1. THE MANDARIN SPEAKS by WILLIAM A. BEATTY |